


Stress Position

by the-ladyhades (Itrustyoutokillme)



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Card [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: BTHB, Gen, Kneeling, Torture, Tortured for information, Whump, hot box, stress position
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 21:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18859285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/the-ladyhades
Summary: Thanks for reading!  If you liked this, or would like to see more whump artwork, follow me on Tumblr @the-ladyhades <3





	Stress Position

‘The shack was crude, poorly built and stunk of the rot of men before him.  Metal sheets for walls, piled into the ground years ago, absorbed the sun’s rays and kept the cubicle warm.  A head-sized porthole was cut out of the south facing side and permitted the blistering heat of the desert sun to sear its mark into his skin.

“You can make this stop, Killian,” his tormentor said casually.  He sat to his right on a flimsy plastic chair, a small battery operated fan pointing at his sweaty brow.  “You know what we need.”

Emma.  They were after Emma. His commanding officer and the toughest lass he knew, had managed to give them the slip whilst he caused a distraction.  She was the key.  She held the real power, not him, but as long as they thought he was useful, the farther away she could get.

“She won’t come back for you, you know,” the fat man taunted, mopping a slightly damp rag across his cheeks.  “You’ll die here alone.  Is that what you want?”

No words left the cracked lips of his mouth but his jaw ticked, the muscle movement causing a split in his lip to reopen. A bead of salted perspiration rolled into his eyes and he stifled a groan as he pinched his eyes closed, hands balling into tight fists behind his back.  They stung, a combination of dryness and heat that made him feel like sand was grating over his eyeballs every time he blinked.  Killian shook his head, flicking the sweat from his brow with a sweep on his sodden hair.  He took a breath but the air was so humid his lungs felt like they were filling with water, burning the back of his throat like fire.

“Suit yourself.  I’ll just sit here to make sure you don’t get comfortable.”

The sun never moved, constantly directed at him from dawn until dusk, and he had counted no fewer than five sunsets since they had moved him into the hotbox. Dust danced like fairies in the light but it was a trick, the impish glow burning his bare shoulders raw.  The hotter he got, the more he sweat, and the sheen over his entire body was intermittently a relief and then a burden, evaporating into the already too humid air and leaving his skin aching.

They had made it clear when they had duct taped the hardwood pole to his legs that he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, the constant pressure on his knee caps like hot, sizzling pins hammered straight into the joint. His thighs burned with the exertion of trying not to move and with a bow of his head, he was calmed, the relief in his spine for just a second like a miracle of epic proportions.

“Ah, ah!” He captor chuckled, teasing the underside of his jaw with the end of a bamboo cane.  It caused him to straighten up like a well-trained animal, the bar rolling a bit on the floor and making him wince through the pain.  He’d learned to comply because the welts from the last beatings hadn’t healed, raw and sore under his vest where they rubbed against the fabric like it was glass.  “Wouldn’t want to break another cane now would I?”

“It will be all you break,” Killian spat defiantly, finally finding his voice.

“They all say the same thing.  ‘You won’t break me’, ‘they’ll come for me’, blah blah, it doesn't matter.  Do you know why?” he said, leaning forward until he was inches from Killian’s face. “Because in about an hours time, it will be noon, and I think you are too hydrated.  Maybe your water allowance can go to someone else.”

Killian licked his lips, desperate to wet his tongue on something.  Even the mention of his measly portion of daily water was making him lose his resolve, but his features never faltered, eyes dead forward and a determined stare on his face.

“So, when you feel thirsty,” the man grunted as he pushed himself to his feet.  “And you want to tell us where your CO is, just let us know.”  He left, the grating metal sound sealing Killian into the hotbox once more, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, or would like to see more whump artwork, follow me on Tumblr @the-ladyhades <3


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